


Teetering Off of the Stage

by sleepingalone



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Battle of the Bands, Fluff and Crack, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-12
Updated: 2014-12-12
Packaged: 2018-03-01 05:31:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2761427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleepingalone/pseuds/sleepingalone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Um, I don’t think supernatural beings are allowed to compete, are they?” he asked, and was met with laughter instead of the rustling through rulebooks like he had expected.</p>
<p>---</p>
<p>Or, White Eskimo and The Rogue compete for the trophy at a local Battle of the Bands.  And Harry might be a bit of an idiot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Teetering Off of the Stage

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lourrylovestory](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lourrylovestory/gifts).



> idk anything about british school systems or currency so its all american oops
> 
> sorry in advance this is really shitty

“First up performing will be…” Harry crossed his fingers, hoping that he wouldn’t have to go just yet, his heart hammering painfully hard in his chest and stomach erupting with haphazard butterflies, giving him the urge to puke. “The Rogue!” Harry let out an audible sigh of relief, and the drummer of his band, White Eskimo, turned to roll his eyes fondly at him, the ancient headrest behind him giving a small squeak of protest. 

“Come on Harry, we’ve performed, like, a bajillion times before,” he soothed him in a low whisper, leaning forward resting a hand on his quivering knee, trying to provide solace.

“But these are, like, the _finals_ ,” Harry nearly whimpered out, heart clenching at the thought of how important this entire ordeal was, how the audience was larger than any audience they’d played in front of before, including the wedding they’d gotten a gig at. These were the local finals, and the winner would receive around a million dollars. Alright, more like $500, but. That was still a heck of a lot of money for a sophomore like himself. 

Before his comforting comrade could reply, there was a loud squeal of static as the microphone came alive that quickly died down. There was a tapping on the microphone and a delicate “Hello?” that caught Harry’s attention, and he turned his eyes towards the stage to see - a boy. 

Well. Not just any boy. Some sort of Greek god that had been revived and was now standing right before him, with high cheekbones and pretty thin lips and long, fragile eyelashes framing blue blue blue all set on skin woven from golden fibers, clear of any sort of imperfections. He just wished he could be even closer to the stage to examine him more closely, see if he was just an illusion of some sort, a hologram or some trick of the mind, even though he was already seated in the very front, the boy a mere yard away. He seemed so powerful, confidence radiating like a halo around his entire being, his steady grip on the microphone and sure stance almost overwhelming as he looked down at Harry with a small smirk from his height on stage and -

Oh.

“Good afternoon everyone, I am Louis Tomlinson,” he started, sharp eyes never leaving Harry’s, and he felt like he’d need to take a puff of his inhaler if this lasted any longer, almost sure that those blue eyes were scorching right through his with ice. Fire. Something. “And this is my band, The Rogue!” 

There was a shout of protest from his Bieber-haired drummer and their life-changing moment of eye contact finally broke as Louis giggled - _giggled_ \- the sound musical and lovely, and Harry was nowhere near close to ready to hear him sing. “Sorry, Liam, _our_ band, our band. And we will be singing Look After You, which is by The Fray, in case those of you with a shittier taste in music didn’t know.” 

Harry let out a burst of laughter, making a mental note to look up The Fray later and learn everything there was to know about them. 

But then all his mental notes fell straight through to the floor, probably reaching China, at the heavenly sound of an angel singing. Harry wondered for a moment if he had crossed the great divide as the lovely boy before him belted out out the words to an unfamiliar tune, pretty pomegranate lips enunciating each word as he seemingly poured his heart into the music. His voice was so unique, sounding so beautifully delicate and fragile and perfect in every which way possible, like the musical tinge in the shattering of glass. 

There was no way White Eskimo would win.

He didn’t even realize he’d nearly been drooling at the boy until he met his eyes, which were piercing right into him again, a mischievous glint in his eyes. Damn it, why didn’t Harry sit in the back where he could quietly ogle at beautiful people on stage? He felt his cheeks heat up as he looked away this time, but then suddenly the song was over and he looked up to meet an empty stage and they were being told they had a fifteen minute break until the next group was called up. 

“That was absolutely sick, man, I think- hey, are you alright?” Harry’s comforting comrade was asking, but Harry was already up and out of his seat on the way to the judges’ table. This totally and definitely wasn’t fair, Louis was such a cheater and there was no way he could get away with letting The Rogue win. 

“Erm, excuse me?” Harry asked, cringing at the awkward crack that snuck it’s way into his sentence. Three heads turned to look at him, interested in whatever he had to say that was worth interrupting their conversation about old people things. “Um, I don’t think supernatural beings are allowed to compete, are they?” he asked, and was met with laughter instead of the rustling through rulebooks like he had expected.

“Why would you ask that?” one asked, all crinkly-eyed smile and tea-stained teeth. 

“Because, um, I think some kind of celestial being snuck it’s way into the band that just played. And like, that’s totally cheating. Cuz we don’t have the same advantage, you know? My band is just a bunch of humans.” Why couldn’t they understand that this was a serious problem? He needed to find someone of higher authority here. 

There was an angelic chuckle behind him and then Angel Boy was putting a hand on his shoulder and saying, “I’m no celestial being, babe, but I’m flattered that you think so.” 

Harry made a high noise in the back of his throat, feeling completely flustered and suddenly much more like a puny freshman than an elite sophomore. He tried to ask his feet to move, but they refused to budge, and he finally opened his mouth when the hand never fell off his shoulder. 

“I, you, um.” No, this wasn’t working out either. Well, that left only one thing to do.

Harry ran. He darted off, hip dragging against the edge of the table as he bolted for the door, hissing in pain. When he finally reached the doorway, his dumb stupid left foot got in the way of his dumb stupid right one, but with the help of Jesus Christ he managed to successfully balance himself with a hand against the frame of the double doors, avoiding any sort of teasing from the angel, before continuing his journey to the bathroom to hide for a few centuries. 

When he finally shut the bathroom door (it was a single, thank goodness, he didn’t wanna have to lock himself up in a nasty bathroom stall), he put his face in his hands and breathed for a solid minute. He almost considered going back out to their band’s van to grab his inhaler, but then he might have to face that smirk again. And like. No.

He wasn’t even sure what was running through his mind. Except nerves and embarrassment and jealousy and awe and confusion and excitement at the ghost of a hand on his shoulder. Okay, so he knew what was running through his mind. A fuck load of emotions.

He really wished he hadn’t blown all chances of speaking to the boy and sitting beside him on his throne to the heavens by blowing his cover to the judges.

Eventually, there was a knock at the bathroom door, followed by an impatient groan when Harry didn’t answer, then more insistent knocking.

“Gonna piss myself right here if you don’t open up,” a familiar voice whined, and Harry nearly jumped ten feet into the air. Oh God. He needed an invisibility cloak or something. Why couldn’t he have a cool godfather like Sirius Black?

He took in a final breath, what he figured would be the last breath of his entire life, before twisting the door handle slowly, slowly, until there was the telltale click and he let the door fall open. And there was Angel Boy. Or Louis, as he recalled him saying from his glorious position on stage. 

“Oh.” Louis smiled curiously at Harry for a moment, looking for something to say, and Harry felt so bad that he had made things so awkward. Why did he even join this stupid competition? But then finally, “You had to go so badly that you just ran off after complimenting me? You’re absolutely adorable.”

“I didn’t compliment you,” Harry said stiffly, feeling his heart threaten to burst from his cage of ribs at the compliment, not sure if he was being patronized or not. Adorable? “And um, thanks, but I was trying to disqualify your band for cheating.” But when he said it out loud, it sounded absolutely idiotic. And rude. And idiotic. Because of course Louis wasn’t actually an angel, despite all the episodes of Supernatural he watched. He was just a human in a band of humans with an insanely gorgeous voice and face...right?

Louis’ smile faltered, looking part confused and part amused, his eyebrows wavering unsurely between the two. Finally, “Alright, Curly, I’ll see how well you do then. Ta!” 

And then he was pushing past Harry into the bathroom, and Harry spent a good five minutes trying to decide if he was being sarcastically optimistic or a genuinely nice angel. 

\-----

Up next was a trio composed of three awkward seeming boys, all of them clearly trembling with nerves and the blond one looking near tears. Harry almost felt sorry for them, but then the lead started singing into his mic and the two others were on guitar and drums and it sounded so _beautiful_ , and White Eskimo stood absolutely no chance at all. 

The blond started singing a solo at the bridge as his fingers danced across the acoustic guitar strings, strong Irish accent drowning his words in an endearing sort of way, but then his eyes opened and he looked out over the large crowd and froze up, tears springing to his eyes and his voice choking up, and fuck. Harry felt _really_ sorry for them. 

But then Harry heard musical laughter from down the row and turned to see Louis actually laughing at the poor Irish boy, along with his dumb Bieber-ish drummer, and. Wow. Prick.

“Give the poor boys a shot,” Harry whispered harshly down the row, and he could see heads in his vicinity turned towards him but kept his focus on the older boy. 

Louis’ head snapped towards him as well, eyes lighting up with what Harry could only describe as devilry. 

“Oh, sorry to break it to you, but I’m not really a celestial being or whatever the fuck you said. Can’t give these kids more talent,” he nearly sneered, and Harry felt harsh humiliation and bitterness like a stab in the abdomen, throat closing up and mouth filling with venom begging to be spat. He was totally being sarcastically optimistic earlier.

“You were honestly quite shit, anyways,” Harry mumbled sharply, even though it was a blatant lie. His voice was the opposite of shit. Though his personality seemed to be. Harry couldn’t believe he thought he was an angel at one point.

"Says the one who was staring up at me as if I was giving you the best blowjob of your life," Louis scoffed, and he burst into obnoxious laughter, his bandmate looking slightly uncomfortable this time. 

Harry himself sputtered at the _nerve_ of him, even though his comparison didn’t make sense because he’d be looking down at him, but. His fingers were twitching and cheeks reddening nonetheless at the thought of the boy down on his knees, his thin lips pretty and pink around his -

“Thank you,” the lead singer on stage was nearly whispering into the microphone as their performance came to a conclusion, dark eyes cast downward and seeming even more anxious than before, the minimal applause quite painful. 

Harry made a point of clapping loudly, glaring at Louis, and Liam uneasily started clapping a bit as well, giving the ill-fated band a shy smile. He didn’t seem half-bad. Besides his desperate need for a change in hairstyle. 

Louis promptly swatted at Bieber’s arm harshly, lips seeming to pull back into a sort of growl with sharp little teeth poking out and all, and Harry wanted to be annoyed but. He was just so tiny and endearing, like a feisty puppy. With exaggerated cheekbones and no soul. Maybe he was a demon. A beautiful demon. 

\-----

“I’m gonna mess up, I can’t sing with him there. He’s gonna, like, judge me.”

“Harry, shut up, you’re amazing and you’re gonna rock the hell out of this performance. And he’s a dick anyways, yeah?” Harry gave a small shrug and nod, because yeah, he was, and he still felt quite angry with the way he’d acted earlier. But some dumb part of him wanted to impress him still. 

Totally out of contempt, to show him off, not to try and get the boy to possibly compliment him again and beg to get in his pants. No, of course not. 

He didn’t have time to convince himself of his motives for much longer because the curtain was opening and he was standing up straight as possible, wanting to appear nice and professional for the judges, fingers wrapped around the microphone carefully. He could feel a set of eyes boring into his figure and made a point of keeping his head turned straight forward, his own eyes on the opposite wall, not giving in to the slow itch begging him to meet the eyes of that one angelic demon.

“Hi! We’re White Eskimo,” Harry said brightly as possible, though he was sure his voice was still an awful monotone. “And we will be performing Summer of 69 today.” 

There was a light cheer from the audience, the loudest from his mother and sister, bless them. But right as the guitar was starting up, his eyes shifted to meet Louis’, and he was wearing a dumb smirk, like he thought he was _better_ than Harry or something, and.

“Wait,” Harry muttered into the microphone, and his guitarist paused, the chord fading out dramatically. “I just wanna say, um,” Harry let out a small cough, not sure what the fuck he was even doing, but it’d be too late to back out now, so, “Don’t vote for The Rogue, yea? That shit band that went first. Well, they weren’t shit, but. The lead singer’s an arsehole.” 

When he risked a glance towards that one spot in the crowd, Louis was poking his tongue out at him, rolling his eyes obnoxiously as the Liam boy giggled. 

“You know what? Just, vote for the second band, honestly. They were ace and -”

“What the fuck, man?” his drummer quipped, and Harry stopped, mouth hanging open and cheeks burning up when he noticed Louis full on laughing at him now. Great. He was so wonderful at making a fool of himself, wasn’t he? Why did he even bother leaving his damn bed?

Before he could fuck things up even more, or get another disapproving glare from the dainty looking lady at the judges’ table for every cuss word exchanged, he nodded at his guitarist to start again. He uneasily started off the lead chords again, seemingly unsure if Harry would interrupt him again over his dumb worryings and bouts of anger towards dumb hot boys. 

“ _I got my first real six string,_ ” Harry belted out, letting his eyes fall shut and trying to be one with the music. Or something deep like that. “ _Bought it at the five-and-dime._ ” 

He felt the roughness of his own voice coat the words, hoping it was coming off right and he hadn’t started singing at a different pace than the music, as had happened far too many times during their countless rehearsals. He almost forgot where he was for a moment at times like this, washed up in the sound of his own voice and the drums pounding through his chest and the electric guitar making his skin tingle with excitement. 

It wasn’t until the song was wrapping up and he was stretching out his final note that he opened his eyes again, gaze automatically falling on Louis, who was staring right back up at Harry without a hint of attitude, little mouth formed into a perfect “o” and eyes seeming to bug out. Well, that had to mean he did well, right? Or so horribly awful that the boy felt completely sorry for him. 

But then the room burst into applause, much louder than that for the previous band, possibly even more than The Rogue. Alright, maybe not that much, but. It was fucking loud. And Harry found himself grinning from ear to ear and nodding over at his family, eyes constantly shifting back to see if Louis had joined the applause yet. 

Maybe he could get his number now. Not that he wanted the number of a jerkface, but. 

\-----

“Hey, um Harry, was it?” a tentative voice called, sounding so different yet familiar all at once. Harry turned to see none other than Louis, with an almost nervous smile on his face, all cockiness thrown out the window. What the fuck. 

“Um, it, I’m, yeah,” Harry smartly replied, because Louis was in front of him with suddenly soft features and soft eyes and lovely eyelashes and teeth daintily biting into his lower lip and. Was this a joke?

“I just wanted to say, like. Wow. Fuck. I mean, you were amazing. Absolutely, wow.” Harry felt his own eyes widen in disbelief and noticed Louis’ throat visibly closing up. He was actually making Louis nervous, embarrassed, it almost seemed. Probably because he had been a straight up dick to Harry. But like. Now he was expectantly staring up (up, fuck) at Harry, lower lip still caught between his teeth and a small hand reaching to carefully flick his fringe out of his seemingly glowing eyes. Alright, Harry could do this. 

“Um, thanks,” Harry said, trying to form his lips into some sort of smile. It seemed to work, because all the tension dropped from Louis at once and his presence suddenly seemed to be bigger than Harry’s again, despite the few inches between them. He wasn’t sure which Louis he liked more. Or hated more, yeah, he didn’t like any Louis. Every Louis was rude and awful and - “Can I get your number?”

Big Presence Louis looked taken aback, but then there a dumb smirk on his lips and Harry kinda wanted to tear out his own tongue. 

“Oh, so I’m a little kind to you and you suddenly want me digits?” Louis scoffed, but there was a warm edge to it, completely unlike his attitude towards that poor second band. What the fuck was Harry doing.

“If you apologize to those boys,” Harry heard himself say. He jerked his head in the direction of the three boys, the blond one looking thoroughly stressed out. Harry felt another twinge of remorse for them, along with a twitch of anger at the way Louis had laughed. And the way Louis was laughing now.

“So you ask for _my_ number, and then go on to say you only want it if _I_ do something, am I getting this right?” Harry dumbly nodded, not sure what else to do, besides run off to the bathroom again. But he was way past doing freshman things like that now. 

Louis let out another chuckle, glancing at the ceiling for a moment almost fondly before looking over to the second act. “Sure, yeah, why the fuck not,” he heard Louis mutter, and then he was bounding off and pinching the Irish lad’s cheeks like he was a life-long friend. 

Harry winced in sympathy as he saw the blond freeze up, looking almost terrified of Louis’ all-consuming aura, but then suddenly words were exchanged and he was laughing like he was intoxicated and Louis practically came prancing back. 

“Done,” Louis quipped, teeth flashing in a seemingly exaggerated eye-crinkling smile, little nose scrunching up achingly adorably. “Told him I was profoundly remorseful regarding my childish behavior, and all is well now.” Then he was handing Harry a slip of paper with his number scribbled across, almost as if he had been expecting Harry to ask for it all along. Or he just gave out his number to strangers quite often.

“I. Thanks,” Harry mumbled, grabbing the paper and hoping it wasn’t the number for their local Pizza Hut. He felt like he should say something, but he wasn’t exactly sure what could be said. “You’re um. Really amazing too, by the way. You’re spectacular.” 

“Are we talking about my singing or…?” The smirk wouldn’t seem to leave Louis’ lips, and Harry wasn’t sure if it made him more angry frustrated or sexually frustrated. 

“Both. Yeah, no, you’re just great. Except your personality, quite rude, actually.” Harry felt his own nose scrunching up in disdain, letting his tongue playfully stick out. Louis let out a dramatic huff of air. 

“Survival of the fittest, it is what it is,” Louis said pompously, but Harry could see a twinkle of jest in his eye, and he really wanted to kiss him. “And they didn’t really stand much a chance anyways, compared to you.” 

Harry wanted to be annoyed but he couldn’t help the grin that made it’s way onto his face, and then Louis was squealing “Dimples!” in a theatrical way and grabbing Harry’s cheeks and God, he was really fucking adorable. 

He really hoped he’d be putting that number to use.

\-----

“So, the winner of our grand cash prize is...One Direction!”

“Who the fuck is that,” Louis deadpanned, “Did they even perform?” Harry stifled a giggle and gestured to the apparently successful second act making their way on stage, tears already streaming down the blond boy’s face again and their lead singer literally trembling, lips pulled in a sort of disbelieving grin.

“That was the only other band, you marshmallow,” Harry sighed, and then Louis was turning to him with a wounded expression.

“Was that joke about my pudgy tummy? Or my big arse? Or were you just using dumb words unnecessarily?”

“I would never, you’re lovely just the way you are. It was option three,” Harry promised, and Louis gave a small bark of laughter and sat back in his seat to watch the trophies being passed around on stage. And the money. Fuck, Harry just had to blow his own chances by making everyone sympathize for this One Direction, didn’t he?

“You’re so cheesy, Jesus, and I’ve hardly known you an hour,” Louis said, the words obnoxiously painted over with a snort, but Harry could sense the adoration peeking out from underneath. 

“Yeah, um, I thought you hated him?” Liam spoke up from Louis’ other side. “Thought he was dumb and childish and -”

“Liam, Liam, Liam,” Louis tsked, putting his hands on Liam’s shoulders sagely. “When ever will you learn to just shut the fuck up sometimes?”

Liam deflated and mimed zipping his lips, sitting back. 

Louis turned back to Harry to see him staring longingly at the $500 going to each boy. $1500 in total. Fuck. 

“It’s alright babe, we’ll just make our own band and win next year, yeah?” Louis teased, poking at Harry’s stomach, and Harry giggled and jerked away, reaching out to hand to get back at Louis but the boy grabbed both his hands in an instant, curling his own fingers around Harry’s much paler wrists.

And it really felt like a movie moment when they leant in, and maybe Louis was kind of a prick, but Harry was really glad that something came out of this stupid competition.

**Author's Note:**

> sorry for the abrupt ending
> 
> kudos and comments are very much appreciated! negative or positive! 
> 
> u can find me at [sleepinggalone](http://sleepinggalone.tumblr.com/) as well yay


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